


Winter Tune

by cinnamondonut (cinnamxn)



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Adventure, Anxiety, Artistic License: Nature, Confessions, Crime, Drinking, Gen, Gremlin Lilla My | Little My, Injury, Mild Blood, Multi, Nonbinary Original Character(s) - Freeform, Post Moominvalley in November, Queerplatonic Relationships, Smoking, Snufkin is trans and it comes up like once if you squint, Snusmumriken | Snufkin Has Paws, but also this is fantasy so-, he's also aro and Moomin's in love with him. just bear with me on this.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamxn/pseuds/cinnamondonut
Summary: There are four short whistles outside his window; an excited chime that shouts “Adventure!” and Moomin jumps upright, blankets flying. Adventure indeed, but he finds his eyes roaming his bedroom – the empty spaces on the walls where photographs hung, and the shadows cast by the morning sun on an empty room in a quiet house that he won’t see again for so very long.He hopes everyone sleeps well through the winter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the unofficial sequel to [Warm Silk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303354) I mentioned at the end of that story. You can read that one if you want to, but I don't think it's entirely necessary. I'm tired and writing a chapter fic isn't common for me, so my brain has been fried from drafting. Anyways, I hope it was all worth it. I'll be posting the chapters as I finish editting them. Some of the chapters need rather intense editting (or rather, complete rewrites) while others just need a refresher so don't expect much consistency.

Never did it feel better to be together with Snufkin than in the year following that fateful journey to sea. All good things must come to an end, however. The leaves brown and curl, blown to the grass by the strengthening winds. The shady spot nearest Moominhouse is still occupied by a familiar pitch of canvas, and an ashy firepit. There's clear signs of Snufkin's departure; he's prepared plenty more food than one Mumrik could stomach alone, and he's been avoiding family adventures and group play, preferring either to be alone or with only one or two friends at a time. Their time together is fading to white, and as much as he would like to be strong about it, Moomin can't help the edge of sadness in his chest. 

If anything good is to come from this, it’s the new promises they have made to one another. They understand each other better than ever before, and it’s that understanding that allows them to be much closer and happier than ever. And on the days of autumn they spend as much time alone together as they can, even if there's nothing in particular they want to do; and all they do is watch as the clouds grow darker and more vast.

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you, Snufkin?” 

“I am,” Snufkin sighs, lazing about beneath the pine trees. His knife hangs loosely from one paw, the beginnings of a bark boat in another. “I think I’ll start packing my tent up tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to stay too long and get sick.”

“Oh,” Moomin tries not to sound defeated. “Well, that’s probably for the best.”

Snufkin smiles. “It’s a shame, really. I would have liked more time with you.”

Moomin startles, completely flustered. “Really?”

A nod. “Really…” Snufkin hesitates, much shier than Moomin's ever seen him. “I've been meaning to ask...” he begins, experimentally, and concentrates on the piece of bark, digging his knife into it rather than meeting his friend’s eyes. “To say that, perhaps… we don’t need to part ways. We could…” he chances a look at Moomin, whose face is flushed deep, and he’s barely contained his excitement. Then, he sticks a leaf in a crook of the boat, and studies it against the light of the sun. “Well, you could… come with me… if you wanted?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Moomintroll gushes. “Oh, Snufkin, of course!”

Snufkin grins, though he feels a tremendous weight in his chest. “Tomorrow morning, then! You’d best get ready.”

“I will,” Moomin promises, hopping to his feet right away. “I’m so excited. I must tell Mamma and Pappa. They’ll help me pack.” And he runs off towards Moominhouse, leaving Snufkin laying there in the grass, surrounded by his stranded little boats, and dreaming of the warm south.

Moominmamma and Moominpappa are as supportive as always, and both set to preparing him for his journey in their own ways.

Moominpappa tells him stories, as his mother helps him pack. This may not seem so helpful on the surface, but there’s a lot of power in stories that warn of dangerous creatures and overcoming obstacles. His father talks about how to tell if a bug, or even a fellow troll is dangerous, and he talks about how a smoking habit makes one feel awfully queer all the time, and just because he’s travelling with Snufkin, doesn’t mean he should give it a try (supposedly, Joxter had convinced Moominpappa to smoke a long time ago, and despite what he says of it, Moominpappa says it with a puff from his pipe).

Meanwhile, Moominmamma ensures he has a bag packed in no time at all. When Moomin tries to pick it up, however, he finds it much too heavy to hike all the way south with. While picking the right things to take might have been difficult, he finds that picking the wrong things to take is much easier, and Moominmamma is thankfully unbothered when he asks her if he can leave much of the stuff behind. She trusts his judgement, he realises, which makes him feel very adult, but also makes him realise all the more how much he’s going to miss her when he heads off the next morning.

In Moomin’s hiking bag, there is: a spare blanket, his scarf, his utility knife, some fruit and granola to eat early, some preserves and jams for later, his own emergency food stash, plenty of water, a rain coat, a compass, his fishing rod, the kerosene lamp and Mamma’s girl scout handbook (which happens to have some photos of his parents and friends pressed between the last two pages). This, along with everything Snufkin already owns, they suppose should keep him in one piece through the winter. The dozen items Mamma had attempted to pack for him, which included socks, Pappa’s blunderbuss, a whole set of crockery and a large fluffy pillow sit in a pile by his door, and Little My sits on the pillow watching him curiously as he packs.

Eventually dinner preparation begins. They’re going to have a big dinner party, and everybody in Moominvalley is invited. Moominmamma cooks up a pumpkin pie, which is one of Moomin’s favourite, and the smell of cinnamon fills the house.

Little My follows Moomin as he goes for a walk to extend the invitations.

“I can’t believe Snufkin actually said you can go with him,” she says suspiciously.

Their first stop is Sniff’s hole – which is quite a bit more elaborate than just a hole, but still an apt description. “Snufkin and I are best friends.”

“Yes, but Snufkin’s always preferred to be alone.”

“Well, being with someone can be a lot like being alone if you know how to respect each other’s space.”

Little My crosses her arms over her chest. “Sounds like nonsense to me.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about respecting people’s space.” Moomin knocks on Sniff’s door, ignoring the torrent of protests that Little My has towards that.

Sniff opens the door, blinking at the two.

“Moomintroll. Little My. What’s going on?”

“We’re having a party, Sniff.” Moomintroll tells him. “Moominmamma’s making a pumpkin pie big enough for everyone in Moominvalley. Can you help us tell everyone?”

“A party?!” Sniff’s jaw gapes with wonder, and his eyes are very hungry. “Oh, that’s exciting.”

“It’s because Moomin’s leaving with Snufkin,” My retorts, and Moomin’s ears flatten against his head.

“Oh? He finally said you could?”

“Actually,” Moomin corrects, “I didn’t even ask. It was Snufkin who asked.”

“Imagine that!” Little My scoffs. “He never asked me, and I’m his big sister.”

Sniff stares between the two for a moment, his surprise evident. “Well I hope you have fun. Should I invite Hemul and the Fillyjonk?” They decide it’s for the best Sniff does, and head off in the other direction, towards the Snorks’ house.

“Perhaps we should split up,” Moomin says to Little My, for her banter does not come to an end after announcing his business to Sniff. “We could make much faster progress that way.”

Little My considers it a moment. “I’ll invite Snufkin,” she decides, “That way you don’t have to,” and it takes a lot of practice for Moomin not to react to this and to simply nod decidedly. Little My, however, does not immediately run off to tell Snufkin, and they both arrive at the Snorks’ door together.

Snorkmaiden opens the door. A similar, yet more chaotic, conversation occurs.

“Mamma’s making a pie for everyone in Moominvalley. Would you and your brother like to come over?”

“Oh, we’d love to, Moomin!”

Snork appears behind her, “But what’s the occasion?”

“Moomin’s leaving with Snufkin this winter.”

“How exciting!”

“Yes, but none of us were invited.”

“Well, it’s good for men to spend time together without girls to bother them.” This, as you may have guessed, is said by the Snork, and it sets off a chain of events where both Little My and Snorkmaiden get quite annoyed. Moomin realises that the Snork has doomed himself, but doesn’t feel right in defending him, so goes on with his invitations while Little My is occupied.

Next on his list could be any number of people closer by, but so long as she is out of the way, he decides he’ll take advantage of that absence and get to Snufkin first.

He’s not too far from where he was that morning – in the forest, upstream. It’s easy to tell he’s still there, because Moomin finds bark-boats floating down the stream with their little orange sails, surprisingly sturdy for such small pieces of wood tossed about in an autumn rush. He follows the river, surprised at just how many he sees – seven – and considers picking them up to float them from the start again, but something about that seems unfair, so he doesn’t.

Snufkin’s placed himself on a rock, knees at his chest and his face wearing a wistful smile as he pulls the twigs from a pile. Moomin supposes he must have been making boats all afternoon, because there’s still a significant pile left.

He finds a sizeable rock not too far from Snufkin, and perches on it.

“Good afternoon, Moomintroll,” Snufkin acknowledges, and he offers his friend a boat of his own.

“Hullo, Snufkin,” Moomin replies with a grin, and together they both put bark-boats in the water, watching them disappear downstream before reaching for the next. “Mamma and Pappa helped me get ready. They’re happy for me.”

“That’s good. I thought you’d want to spend more time with them before we go.”

“I do,” Moomin explains. “But we’re having a big dinner party tonight in celebration. You’re invited, of course.”

“A big party? How big?”

“Everyone in Moominvalley is invited.”

“Oh dear.” There’s a touch of sadness to Snufkin’s voice, and Moomintroll immediately feels guilty. He’s going to change Snufkin’s mind about travelling with him before they even leave.

The next set of boats they float crash into one another, both submerging just beneath the current.

“You don’t have to,” he mends, dropping another boat in the water. “If you don’t want to. You can have as much alone time as you need. Mamma won’t mind.”

Snufkin stands up, head shaking gently as he toes the remaining bark boats into the water. Many of them fall to the current, sinking, but a few persist with or without their sails, upturned or upright.

Snufkin thinks as he watches them sail, and Moomin feels his chest clench with anticipation.

“I’ll be there,” Snufkin concedes. “Should I arrive before sunset?”

“Sunset is fine,” replies Moomin, and then decides to give Snufkin some space. They have the whole winter to be together, yet.

Everyone in Moominvalley shows up. The Hemulen makes fireworks for the occasion, and Moominpappa presents his homemade wine, and Snorkmaiden brings fresh-baked blackberry muffins. Inside, Toft and the Fillyjonks are helping Moominmamma cook a huge autumn feast.

Snufkin arrives latest of all the guests, and so when he does show, he’s bombarded with questions. Everyone seems to want to know why he changed his mind about being alone. Everybody wants to know where he’s taking Moomin. That he’ll take care of him. Moomintroll watches sympathetically, because it’s clear he wants nothing more than to keep to the edges of the gathering, smoke his pipe and sip some wine.

Moomintroll cuts through the crowd, and does his best to encourage everyone towards the food and beverages. Many of them drop off, except for a persistent Little My who Snufkin doesn’t seem to mind too much anyway. She climbs onto his shoulders, and when he reaches for his tobacco pouch, she strikes a match on her shoes and offers it to him.

“I think Mamma might have overdone it,” Moomin says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Snufkin frowns, though his shoulders bounce in a gentle shrug. Moomin can’t help notice that the match trembles between his claws when he lights his pipe. “It’s a big change,” he confesses. “After what happened in November, I think they’re just glad to have a chance to say goodbye.”

“It’s not really your style though, is it, Snuf?”

He exhales a small grey cloud. “No. But I don’t think Moominmamma ever intended this for me.”

Moomin’s cheeks flush, and Little My rolls her eyes. 

“I still think I should be invited, too. You two might need me out there all on your own.”

"It should be nice to have some peace from you," Moomin chuffs. 

Their friends surround them soon enough. Little My wanders off Snufkin’s shoulders to bully Sniff over something, and the Snork decides to talk with Snufkin, while Moomin finds himself pouring wine for Snorkmaiden and trying out the muffins she baked – she offers him some extra to take with him on his travels, for which he is grateful. There’s drinking and laughter, but not too much because they need to travel the next morning, and when the fireworks go off they make for a splendid show.

Moomin watches them from the shadows beside the house, where the party lanterns don’t reach and Snufkin keeps his distance, but by the time the show is finished, Snufkin is a distant shadow himself, Little My standing where he was, and looking like she’s up to no good (which she almost always is, so he thinks very little of it).

The party continues, but without Snufkin, Moomin starts doing the rounds – he says goodnight to everyone, collecting hugs and nose rubs and final gifts to put in his bag; whether it’s Snorkmaiden’s box of muffins, or herb-picking advice from the Hemulen, or the strange heavy box that Sniff promises will be useful; Moomin supposes it must be money, and is genuinely flustered for Sniff is quite reluctant to let go of his money.

There’s still noise in the party below when he gets to his bed, and his head tingles with the delight of a party, his heart fluttering adventurously. It takes a long while to coax himself asleep when he’s so excited for the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin and Moomin begin their adventure, and encounter several little surprises along the way.

Moomin wakes up to a crisp morning, where one wants nothing more than to curl into bed and begin an early hibernation, but he knows that he mustn’t, for today is a day to be energetic.

There are four short whistles outside his window; an excited chime that shouts “Adventure!” and Moomin jumps upright, blankets flying. Adventure indeed, but he finds his eyes roaming his bedroom – the empty spaces on the walls where photographs hung, and the shadows cast by the morning sun on an empty room in a quiet house that he won’t see again for so very long.

He hopes everyone sleeps well through the winter.

There’s another short whistle, then another- Moomin hurries to the window, and by the time he opens it Snufkin’s whistled "Adventure!" all over again. They share a smile, and Snufkin waves him down, so Moomin wraps his neck in a scarf his Mamma knit, grabs his backpack and begins to climb down.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.” And in that moment, he means it more than he's ever meant anything before.

That’s all they need to say before they embark on their journey. Two pairs of feet trod a path never travelled; Snufkin begins to play a jovial tune as he leads, and Moomin resists the urge to close his eyes and relax into the music, because they are hiking now and one must be vigilant on such uneven grounds. The heaviness of his bag is more than enough to keep him focused, and he begins to worry that he brought too much with him after all.

From the dawn, they hike together for half of the day. They breakfast on fresh fruit beneath a poplar tree, and keep going until lunch. Lunch, Moomin decides is a perfect opportunity to get rid of some of the weight on his back, and digs into his bag for some of Snorkmaiden’s muffins.

He gets a fright as something in his pack clamps down on his paw, and Moomin lets out a pitiful yelp. Snufkin startles, too, and leaps off his bottom to help.

“Something bit me,” Moomin whines, holding the sore spot. It isn’t too damaged; he’s more frightened and confused than hurt. Snufkin picks up a stray twig, and prods at the bag, holding the pouch open so they can see clearly inside.

They find orange hair and devious green eyes, then recognition sets in. “Well, then,” Snufkin says, Moomin resorting to a much less formal grunt of annoyance.

Little My clambers out of the bag, her foot dragging with it one of the giftboxes Moomin received last night – Sniff’s. He realises, suddenly, that Sniff offered him something with much less heart than money; to think that it was even possible. When he gets back, Moomin thinks that he’s going to play a rather clever prank on Sniff. He isn’t sure what, but he has all of winter to come up with it.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you idiots to notice me."

“I don’t recall inviting you along,” Snufkin sighs.

“Then it's a good thing I don’t need you to tell me what I can or can't do,” she retorts.

“Go home, Little My,” Moomin demands, but she glares at him and pokes her tongue out fiercely, then crosses her arms. 

Unperturbed by her defensive stance, Snufkin pushes her out of the way and reaches for one of the muffins. “I hope Mymble knows you’re here,” he says thoughtfully, frowning at the box which is short of a few muffins already; perhaps something to do with the crumbs on Little My’s dress. “You know how sensitive she can be.”

The look on Little My tells them that her answer isn’t ideal. “Sniff will tell her,” she deflects. “Besides, I’m an adult just like she is. I can handle myself.”

Snufkin seems unsure, but Moomin knows for a fact that he doesn’t agree with that. He’s much too irritated to eat a muffin so he squares up his shoulders and glares down at their pint-sized and very rude friend. “Go home, Little My.” His voice is firmer than before, and she winces at the tone. “We don’t want you here, Snufkin and I were meant to travel alone.”

“It’s not alone if you’re together, dummy. Besides, I don’t even know where we are. I can’t go home.”

Moomin growls again, but Snufkin places a hand on his arm and he realises… she’s right. They’re already half a day out of Moominvalley – the only indication of where they are is the Lonely Mountains in the distance, and Little My is so very small to be walking through the forest alone, with little clue to keep her on the right track.

So, Moomintroll sighs, and grumpily takes a muffin from his pack.

“What if we walk you back?” Snufkin asks.

“I’m not going back,” Little My persists, and he sighs.

There's no convincing her, and to force Little My into doing something she doesn't wish to do is a difficult task, seemingly only achievable by one very clever Moominmamma. In other words, the only thing to do is accept this new change in their plans, and deal with it as well as they can. 

They don’t travel much further before Snufkin starts to put his tent up. Moomin helps him, and Little My goes mushroom picking.

“Couldn’t we travel a little further today, Snufkin?” Moomin asks, hoisting the lamp into it’s usual place as Snufkin hammers the corners into the ground.

“Usually I would,” Snufkin replies. “But I usually wouldn’t have three mouths to feed. We don’t want to run out too quickly.”

“Well, I can help you.”

“I'd expect no less. Besides, if we can convince Little My to stay before tomorrow, we might be able to take her back before we get too far from Moominvalley.”

He’s smiling as he says it, but Moomin still feels cheated by her intrusion. He can't explain the reasons behind it aloud though, and so he focuses instead on preparing the bait. Snufkin gets a fire going, and they head to the nearby river together.

Little My was given very strict rules for mushroom picking – only the soft, colourless brown ones that Mamma uses for her gravy (because they will be used in a gravy afterall). Still, there are so many mysterious, vibrant mushrooms, and so many other interesting sights in these southern forests that she ignores the rule. Instead, she picks mushrooms she should probably not, and this drags her further and further into the woods until she's explored them all quite thoroughly.

That is how she discovers a pair of thick-coated creatures with stick-noses camping in the hollow of a tree. It takes her a moment to recognise them as House-trolls. This is quite strange, as House-trolls (as their name would suggest) like most to be within the comfort of their own house. She recalls Moominmamma referring to them once as distant relatives, though Little My's sure they haven't been around Moominvalley since the comet. 

“What are you doing living in a tree?” she asks, because she has rarely seen a House-troll outside of their house, and they seem very unsettled stuck out here in the wilds - eyes all wide and shadowed, faces pale with cold.

The two House-trolls exchange a sad glance. “We lost our house,” the fuzziest one cries, but this answer doesn’t satisfy Little My, who scrunches up her face.

“How do you lose a house?”

As they explain their plight to Little My, she realises that the funny little creatures are in desperate need of some help. Lucky for them, an adventure is precisely what she was looking for. 

When she returns to the camp, Moomin and Snufkin have already begun to cook the fish they’ve caught, and the night is creeping forth. Little My arrives with the House-trolls in tow – when she asked them their names, the fuzziest one replied “Doodah” and then Doodah said again that “This - uh, - this is Oojah”, so that was how she introduced them. 

Doodah does most of the talking, though with a stutter and the occasional help of Little My (who has already heard their story once). They talk over dinner, because one cannot let their guests starve. Thankfully, there was enough to go around with the excess of mushrooms Little My collected; a few of them had to be rejected. Little My argued it'd be fun to try cooking them, but Snufkin said, "You'll be having nightmares without even closing your eyes if you cook them," and the decision is made to put them aside.

“There… there was a fancy Hemulen who came to town and he… all the land, he bought. He bought all the land.”

Snufkin and Moomin sit side-by-side, with fish and gravy, and watching the storytellers with interest, even if they are rather poor storytellers. “So he said ‘this is my land’. And he said we had. If we wanted to live there, still, we had to work for him- pay him. But we didn’t know how. Nobody told us. We’d never needed to work for anybody but each other. It was so scary-.”

It’s at this point that Doodah begins to cry, and Oojah tries hard to comfort them, but they only wind up crying as well, and louder still.

Snufkin watches with a thoughtful frown, the campfire embers in his eye seeming like the early sparks to some vicious revenge.

Though he's never met them, Moomintroll knows a great deal about the House-trolls from his mother's stories - much less frequent than his father's stories, but nonetheless told well. House-trolls, like Moomintrolls, like the comfort of their family and their home, though Mamma reckons they often let themselves become too comfortable, which leaves them not comfortable at all. Moomintroll doesn't quite understand what that means, but he does know that he feels a protective instinct towards the timit trolls, and his own face turns rather red as he hears of the Hemulen.

Little My is much less subtle about her musings, and with a roll of her eyes and a scoff, she waves her dish of fish-gravy at Moomin and Snufkin. "it's not fair," she elaborates. "That old Hemulen can’t just decide that he wants people to pay him. And now they’ve lost their homes. Look at them, they’re pathetic out here, I bet they’ll freeze in the winter, and if they don't, they'll probably be eaten by wolves or something."

“ _My_ ,” Moomin scolds, as her comment only worsens Oojah’s and Doodah’s terrified sobbing.

“I’m right,” she complains. “We all know it.”

Snufkin remains quiet, and very thoughtful.

This lasts a long time before his water kettle starts to boil, and he pulls it from the fire. He pours chocolate for everyone, and when he reaches Oojah and Doodah, he stays by them as they take their first sip.

“How many people are affected by this Hemulen?”

They exchange a look. “Everyone,” Doodah explains, and Oojah nods along, but holds up seven fingers. “There are seven other families like us.”

Snufkin frowns deeply at this information. “Does the Hemulen live in one of those?”

Oojah shakes their head, then begins to gesture nervously. Doodah interprets – “No, he’s. The Hemulen has a much bigger house. The far side, on the far side of town.”

He sighs. “We’ll figure something out. If you want, you can wait in my tent. It’s nice and warm.”

Oojah and Doodah smile for the first time since they met them, and Snufkin returns to his thoughts. The House-trolls finish off their food before retiring to the tent, but Snufkin thinks for a long time, and Moomin waits on him. The much less patient Little My offers her own ideas for what she will do to the Hemulen, which all involve biting him at one point or another.

When Snufkin finishes his chocolate, Moomin’s patience wears out. “Have you thought of anything yet, Snufkin?”

“I’ve thought of many things, Moomin,” he replies. “I think I don’t like that Hemulen, and I think that those House-trolls are quite sad, and I think that nobody should own the ground we walk on, and so we should do something about that.”

“Yes, but what?”

Snufkin stands, and he paces the camp for a while. He peeks at many things; the remaining mushrooms in Little My's gathering pouch, the fishing gear they haven't packed away properly yet, the tent where Oojah and Doodah sob rather than snooze. He's paced in a full circle around the campfire before an impish grin grows on his face, and for a moment, Moomin must admit he looks quite frightening. "I think I know what we'll do," he announces, and Moomin and Little My both lean forward in anticipation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House-trolls are in fact a species referred to in "Comet in Moominland" and they even make an [appearance in the 1992 film](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/396663950856421378/596516585427173386/unknown.png). Fell in love at first sight, had to make some OCs and kinda project what I think is a pretty accurate portrayal of me and most of my friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Tagging is hard. If you think I've missed any tags go ahead and tell me. This includes whether you think I should tag Snufmin. Nothing explicitly romantic happens, so I've assumed it's best not to tag.


End file.
